by Ava Miles
“Take it away, Evan. I don’t want it here.”
“Why not? It was in your closet.” Evan sunk to his haunches in front of him. “Tell me about the pillow, Chase.”
Instead, Chase used his good arm to hurl it across the room. It hit the wall. But the words his mom had cross-stitched still taunted him.
“I’m going to put this pillow on the couch for the moment,” Evan said, walking over and picking it up. “I’m hoping someday soon you’ll tell me about it. I’m quite fascinated with its origin, you see. It’s the first homey thing I’ve ever seen in your house.”
Which was why he’d stuffed it in the back of his closet. “You’re crossing some pretty big lines here, Evan.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I have this feeling in my gut that I’m on to something. And now, since you’re all worked up, I’m going to give you my surprise.”
“I don’t want anything,” he said, hating how petulant he sounded.
Evan opened the front door and disappeared. The cold wind stole over him, and while it felt good to be exposed to fresh air again, it hurt to shiver when you had two broken bones and a concussion. When Evan reemerged, he was driving a sleek, four-wheel, all-terrain mobility scooter. The door was just wide enough to accommodate it.
Chase made sure to lock his jaw so his mouth didn’t gape open like some idiot.
Evan’s smile was practically beaming sunshine. “I thought this baby would soothe you some. I made some modifications to the design. The scooter can travel up to eleven miles an hour, and it’ll even tilt you up to help you get out of it easier.”
He demonstrated these functions by pushing on what looked like a simple keyboard.
“Evan—”
“Oh, and check this out,” he said, grinning. “You can call or text me, Moira, Helga, or Andy about anything related to your recovery by using this keyboard. And the screen isn’t backlit, so it won’t hurt your head.”
“How quaint,” Chase drawled. “You’re not completely taking my phone away, but I can only call or text my jailers.”
“I guess I should be wearing a guard uniform then,” Evan said, swinging off the scooter. “You can also adjust the arm and leg rests with the punch of a button.”
“Can I order room service too?” he quipped.
“I’ve already talked to both Chef T at The Grand Mountain Hotel and Brian at Brasserie Dare. They’re setting up meals on wheels for you.”
Chase clapped his good hand against the side of the wheelchair. “Goodie!”
Evan sucked in a steady stream of air, signaling he was losing his patience.
“If I can listen to CNBC, why don’t you fly out Gerdie?” Chase pressed. “She can read me emails, and I can dictate responses. I can work on the bid.” His executive assistant would be more than happy to help him, he was sure.
“Because listening to CNBC is different than the mental concentration your work requires,” Evan answered. “Especially on a complex bid like this. It’s a hotbed of stress.”
He wasn’t wrong there.
“I’ve done the medical research myself, Chase,” Evan said with a sigh. “Do you think I like having you laid up like this? That I’d insist on you taking a break if it wasn’t what’s best for you?”
Chase shook his head and then winced. Dammit, he needed to remember that hurt. “I know you don’t. It just seems like we could come up with a better plan.”
“Right. Plan. I’ve drafted how we’re going to reallocate your work for the next four weeks—” Sensing Chase’s objection before it was voiced, he raised a hand to keep him quiet. “Just to be safe. Even if you can work sooner, you’ll have to ease back in. Would you like to hear what I came up with and comment?”
Work, real work. “Please.”
“First, tell me about that pillow.”
It seemed Evan wasn’t the only one in the room who could drive a hard bargain. “No. I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Funny,” Evan said, heading into the kitchen. “I’ll pour us some water and then we can make sure all my reallocations are suitable.”
A half hour later, Chase had to concur they were. Evan had done an excellent job of dividing up his workload, even though it put extra pressure on his already hardworking staff, especially Rajan and Darren. It should have made him proud that Evan knew his own company so well—he’d come such a long way from the untried genius kid Chase had met a decade ago—but instead it sort of galled him. Made him feel expendable.
“You’ll be back in no time,” Evan assured him. “Without the headaches, surliness, and nausea.”
Chase wasn’t so sure about that, but he let Evan help him into his new all-terrain scooter. With those wheels, maybe he could run away from home at eleven miles per hour.
Except he’d have nowhere to run to. For the first time that felt like something of a problem.
Chapter 10
Evan had a way of wrangling people to his causes, and since Moira was concerned about Chase going batshit crazy, she was helping her boss with a project she would never have conceived of on her own.
They were buying BBQ equipment so that Chase could smoke meat—apparently a pastime of his. Who would have thought Mr. Corporate liked making his own bacon? Chef T, The Grand Mountain Hotel’s nationally famous head chef, was acting as their cooking consultant on the project.
He’d even popped over to Artemis’ temporary offices on campus to meet with them. Gary didn’t seem like the type of guy who sat around watching cooking shows—he could hardly sit still for a minute ever—but he was a constant surprise. He’d completely wigged out upon meeting Chef, and Evan had asked him to run out and grab them sandwiches to distract him from his suggestion that Chef T do a cooking show for college students about the best way to create a gourmet meal on a hot plate. Fortunately, Chef T had been amused—he’d even promised to consider the idea.
“Don’t worry about choosing and ordering the cuts of meat,” Chef T assured her after Gary left. “Natalie is going to handle that. She’ll add it to Chase’s catering account.”
Right, Evan had set up a regular account with the two best restaurants in Dare Valley for Chase.
“You’re going to need wood chips,” Chef T said. “You should ask Chase what he wants, but honestly, it’s pretty standard—hickory, mesquite, apple, cherry, and oak. Then there are the rubs. He’ll need spices. Are you taking notes, Moira?”
Was she taking notes? Evan smirked at her from his position at the computer in their conference room. He was selecting the best smoker on the market.
“Do I look like a BBQ secretary to you?” she asked Chef T. The question was rhetorical, so she didn’t wait for an answer before turning toward Evan and asking, “Are we really doing this? Did you ask Chase if he wanted a smoker?”
Evan had returned his attention to the screen, and he didn’t look up.
“Hey over there! Genius inventor! Did you ask Chase if he wanted to spend his convalescence smoking meat?”
This time her boss gave her his attention. “Chase talked about it in the way I talk about racing hot cars. He might not have smoked meat in a long time, but he’ll be happy to resume the hobby.”
Smoking as a hobby? Suddenly she felt like she was living an episode of Pioneer Woman. “I think all of you are crazy. He’s the CFO of a global conglomerate. Not Billy Bob BBQ.”
Chef T snorted. “That’s a good name. Maybe I’ll call myself that in my next cooking show if I don’t go with Gary’s idea, which isn’t bad, by the way. Evan’s right, Moira—Chase needs a distraction. Andy said smoking meat isn’t on the concussion no-no list, so we should help Chase get his smoke on.”
“Of course it isn’t on any list,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What self-respecting doctor would think to add it? Honestly, you two. Shouldn’t we just ask him?”
Evan gave her a playful wink. “Trust me, this is a good thing. Chef T, I want you and Natalie to have a gift box ready tomorrow. Everything a man would nee
d to smoke meat. Chips. Spices. Equipment. And, well, meat. I’m having a couple smokers shipped overnight.”
The next morning dawned cold and snowy, typical for January, but Moira found herself standing next to Evan in the freezing wind as they knocked on Chase’s front door.
When he shouted, “Enter,” Evan blessedly turned the knob. Inside, a fire was blazing in the hearth. Chase wheeled himself over from his position by the fireplace. He’d been listening to the radio, more investment news from what she could hear. His gray eyes zeroed in on what they were holding, and he frowned.
“We brought gifts,” Evan said, hefting the boxes he’d personally wrapped in giant red bows. Of course, Evan’s bows had been terrible, so Moira had retied them after he’d picked her up at the institute.
“I have a gift bag since Evan is apparently sexist when it comes to letting women lift heavy boxes.”
“Suddenly, I’m terrified,” Chase said dryly.
Moira took a moment to study his face. There were dark circles under his eyes and grooves around his mouth. She’d bet anything he was still having trouble sleeping. The casts were obviously uncomfortable, and he’d admitted his pain meds had been wearing off in the middle of the night. Poor guy.
He was growing a beard, and while he looked pretty rough compared to his normal clean-cut style, somehow it only made him hotter in her estimation. If he’d been wearing a plaid shirt…she’d be in trouble.
“You should be terrified,” Moira said, deciding to navigate a middle road between Chase and Evan. If he hated Evan’s idea, he’d have a friend in her.
“We brought you everything a man could want to smoke meat,” Evan said, setting the boxes on the floor and opening the lids. “An assortment of the finest wood chips, an array of amazing spices, a chimney starter, a fire stick…and meat, of course. Chef T and Natalie have procured and will continue to procure for you the best pork belly and pork shoulder and whatever cuts you want. Come see.”
Chase’s frown grew darker. “You think I’m going to cook with a broken arm and leg? From a scooter no less? Evan, you’re out of your goddamn mind. Sorry about the cussing, Moira.”
She gave him a smile. “Cuss away. I told Evan he should ask you about all this first.”
Evan shot her a scorching look. “I also bought you two kinds of smokers: an electric one so you don’t have to work as hard and an old-fashioned one that needs a real old-fashioned fire. They’re set up on the back deck as we speak.”
Chase wheeled off in that direction, and Moira and Evan followed.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Evan said softly.
“I’m on Chase’s side,” she said. “Someone needs to be.”
Evan’s mouth pinched. “I am too. He wants to do this. We just need to give him permission.”
It seemed like a laughable idea—Chase wasn’t the kind of man who would ask for permission. “Chase does what he wants. Besides, he isn’t going to become some weekend grill master.”
“Perhaps not, but he’s going to do it because he’s bored stiff, and it’s going to reconnect him with something from his past. For reasons I can’t talk about, he needs that right now, Moira.”
She was intrigued. How would messing around with a couple of smokers connect Chase to his past? And why wasn’t Evan willing to talk about it?
“This isn’t a bad smoker,” Chase said when they emerged onto the deck.
Fortunately, the delivery crew was nowhere in sight. Evan had possessed the foresight to ask them to assemble it at the store, something she’d laughed at. Since it was winter, she expected everything got assembled inside. He was such a newbie sometimes.
Chase ran his hands over the cast-iron frame like it was the finest treasure. “The electric one is pathetic, Evan. I would never use it.”
“You might when the weather is cold enough to freeze your balls off, Chase. It takes some doing to keep a fire hot enough to smoke meat in the winter. From what I read, it’s a hell of a lot harder to smoke meat in cold temperatures.”
“You forget I’m originally from Wyoming,” Chase said, wheeling his scooter over to the end of the smoker, where a chimney-like opening was located.
Yeah, Chase wasn’t a hard winter newbie like Evan. He seemed built for the cold.
“We did just fine. Sure, the cast iron absorbs a lot of heat in warmer months, but things like bacon do better with a cold smoke.”
A cold smoke? Was that even possible?
“What kind of chips did you get me?” Chase asked, raising and lowering the smoker’s lid and giving it a thorough inspection.
“All kinds,” Evan said.
He gave Moira a knowing smile. She thought about sticking out her tongue at him, but figured it would be crossing a line. Instead, she rolled her eyes dramatically.
“I’ll need corn cobs too,” Chase said, turning to face them. “They give a fabulous flavor to bacon and ham. It’s from the Native Americans.”
“I’ll find some,” Evan said, grinning. “So I did good?”
“I haven’t decided.” Chase looked over in her direction, his gray eyes intent. “Show me the meat.”
“Be right back,” Evan said, taking off for the house.
“No, we’ll go inside,” Chase said. “Moira is cold.”
She was surprised he’d noticed. Chase was a details man, but with all the pain he was experiencing, he hadn’t been in his usual fine form lately. “I’m fine. I still have my coat on.”
“We’re going inside,” Chase ordered, and his tone sounded like the old Chase.
He pressed a button on his scooter, and the door slid open. Another button press closed it behind them once they were all back inside.
“Aren’t the automated doors awesome, Chase?” Evan said as they headed back to the boxes he’d brought. “I knew it would be easy to rig them to open and close with a remote. My buddy, Wayne, at Smith’s Hardware store is my go-to in Dare Valley.”
Despite Wayne’s constant hale-and-hearty jokes, which drove all the Hales nuts, Moira was glad Evan had bonded with the nerdy store owner. Even if it was weird.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Evan,” Chase said. “This house is a laboratory experiment of invention for invalids.”
Evan’s smile faded, and Moira shot Chase a look.
“He’s worked hard to make it more comfortable for you.” Be nice.
“I know,” he said, looking down in his lap. “I’m sorry if I sound surly again. I’m still adjusting to having all this time on my hands. Helga isn’t the most charming of companions.”
“Well, now you can smoke meat to your heart’s content,” Evan said, forcing cheer into his voice. He reached into one of the boxes and emerged with a package wrapped in brown paper and a plastic bag full of what looked like salt. “Here’s the pork belly Chef T picked. He included curing salt. Said you’d know what to do with it.”
“Can’t make bacon without it,” Chase said, holding out his hand. “I’m going to need some cookie sheets…hell, I’m going to need help…with all of this.” Frustration twisted his features, and he let his hand fall. “Oh, who are we kidding? I can barely dress myself. How in the hell am I supposed to prepare and smoke meat? Forget it. Forget all of it.”
“I’ll help you, Chase,” Moira said, stepping into his path when he began to scoot away. “If you want to smoke meat, we’ll smoke meat. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
“As I’ve said before, you have a full-time job.” Chase jerked his good thumb in Evan’s direction. “So do you.”
“I like bacon,” Moira said. “Thick, smoky bacon. If you can make it, I’ll help you. I’ll consider it payment enough.”
“A woman who likes bacon,” Chase mused, stroking his beard with his good hand. “Imagine that.”
“I also like pork shoulder and pretty much any other meat out there,” Moira said, putting her hands on her hips. “Here be a carnivore.”
“Me too!” Evan said, patting his chest. “We’l
l help if we can eat what we make.”
It touched Moira to watch them together. Evan obviously understood how important Chase’s pride was to him.
The gruff man in the scooter gave them the makings of a smile. “Fine,” he said. “We can’t all starve in the wilderness. I’ll tell you what I need, and we’ll make this happen. The bacon is going to take about a week to cure, but we can smoke the pork shoulder tomorrow if you’d like to swing by.”
“I’d love to,” Moira said, happy to see the change in him. “If that’s all right with Evan.”
“We’ll make sure everything at the center is running smoothly before we leave. If it’s okay, maybe Margie can join us for dinner? She’ll bring a baguette.”
Chase pointed to the kitchen. “She already dropped off her own gift basket stocked with more bread than any one man can eat. I know you sent her to check on me, Evan.”
“Then we’re covered on the bread front,” Evan said, clapping his hands. “I plead the fifth on the rest.”
Moira let out a laugh, which made Chase glance her way. His intense gaze sent electricity skating down her spine. Even sitting there in his scooter with casts on his arm and leg, he managed to be compelling. His mouth quirked up on the right as if he were reading her mind.
“Bring a few bottles of wine too, Evan,” Chase said. “I can’t drink yet, but the rest of you can. And I imagine we’ll need some side dishes. We can’t just eat meat and bread for dinner.”
“We can in my world,” Moira said, making Chase smile wider. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover the sides.”
“So, it’s a date then,” Chase said, his husky voice offering all sorts of promises a man in his condition had no business throwing out there.
She caught Evan smirking in her peripheral vision and decided it best not to engage.
“A date it is,” she found herself responding.
Chapter 11
The next day Chase was feeling every stinking limitation of his current condition. His head was hurting non-stop, and damn it all if there wasn’t a constant throb in his leg. He could feel it swelling, pushing against the plaster cast. He’d kept it propped up on a pillow all day.
